Unopened Mail

I knew that I was really losing it on Sunday the twenty-first. not just suffering from the pains of requited complications because in that moment I wasn't thinking of him. Wasn't thinking of him or of the failures, or the "before-I-knew"s, or what was almost red, or the choir, or even the sickness. None of it. I was really losing it. I walked toward the mailbox, but really I was spiraling, spiraling down, and there were three pieces of mail with my then-cursed name on them. And I set them down on a flat piece of wood. The letters were not ignited. The letters were not read. I didn't care what the world had to say to me. that night I dreamed I was a silhouette. things weren't that dark, but I wanted them to be. I was losing it. I was losing it because the unopened mail didn't tell me I wasn't.

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